Prologue - New Year's Festival

It was the last day of the 5184th year, and Tern City was preparing for the celebration of the new year festival. Averaged across the known world, this season was considered the middle of global summer. But here in Tern, it was a chilly time of alternating rain and snow.

Not that the unpleasant weather particularly stopped the bustling city. River barges arrived, sky-craft departed, wind- and watermills spun, goods changed hands - work never truly stopped, and not everyone had the opportunity for the leisure associated with this auspicious date. The only thing in doubt because of the snow was whether the many venues would forego the outdoor festivities of the day. But that would soon be seen - traditionally, the festival begins at noon and culminates at midnight, after which the celebrants would begin going home. And the next morning, routine work would resume as usual.

---

But for some, it was study and not work. Several learning institutions, including Tern City Polyscholastic Seminary, had the controversial habit of starting the first semester on the very first day of a new year. Fortunately for the celebrants, that would happen at noon and not in the early morning, giving them a chance to catch up on lost sleep. Given that most departments would often be involved in organising festive events for both established students and matriculating ones, with an expectation of attendance at the evening event, it was not a particularly surprising contingency to avoid having too many students late to the opening ceremony.

---

Of all those matriculating students, those who were from other lands usually arrived between a week and a month before the semester began, to handle all such organisational matters as paperwork and finding a long-term place to stay. Some went as far as to come here two months ahead of time, but it seems unlikely that anyone arrived earlier than that.

How exactly the students spent the preparatory time varied.

---

Ah, the sleet and wind and stormy skies. Shadow was one of those few foreigners who found themselves not dismayed by the weather, but conversely, cheered by it. He hated summer the most. In Smithland, the temperature was moderately warm at worst, but in Tern, it gripped him with force and humidity, draining the starch out of his uniform and clamping him in a damp hot vise of misery.

Discipline persisted in the summer, for the point of discipline is to endure orders no matter the circumstances, but still..Summer was not ideal. Gazing at his reflection critically in the mirror, he ran a brush over fiery curls, marshalling them into a smooth, curved plane that swept out from his head and down to brush against his eyebrows. He had arrived a week earlier, shepherded to the townhouse of a Smithland clockwork merchant...Or so it belonged to, on the deed.

Shadow himself personally had no idea how real this merchant was, but the servants were real, as was this lodging, as was his father's letter with instructions which had opened these doors without question. He had been up since dawn, of course, executing a few swordplay drills, before then taking a brief bath to wash off the morning's exertion, and study up on his future battleground.

The Seminary was a nexus of fates and destinies, a convergence of the great and the terrible, but inevitably, most of which whom were powerful, or had the promise of power about them. He had spent the rest of his day acquainting himself with his uniform, and transferring the sole, prized medal he had onto it, where it glittered underneath his collar, half-hidden by his hair.

He secretly looked forward to the frivolities, and had made sure to exchange a portion of his discretionary funds for local currency. There was time enough for war and plots and schemes to further his fatherland at all costs. For now....He would be a person, not a blade, nor the shadow under the blade.

The first thing Celune learned about Tern City was that it never truly slept.

Even in the cold of winter, with snow melting into rain and rain freezing back into slush, the city moved. Barges crossed the waterways beneath grey skies, merchants haggled beneath covered awnings, and scholars hurried between libraries with armfuls of books tucked beneath their coats.

She had arrived nearly three weeks ago. Long enough to secure a modest room above a bookseller's shop near one of the city's academic districts. The room was small. There is only a bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a narrow window overlooking a canal but it was affordable, quiet, and within walking distance of the Seminary.

More importantly, it was close to records. Most of those three weeks had disappeared within archives, public registries, and dusty collections that smelled of old paper and lamp oil. She had come to Tern City as a student, certainly, but that was not the only reason she had crossed half the world to reach it. No single clue had revealed itself yet. But she's patient, she could wait.

Nevertheless, on the last morning of the year, she sat beside the window of her rented room, notebook balanced on her knee as snow drifted lazily beyond the glass. Below, the streets were beginning to fill with celebrants preparing for the festival. Her pen paused. The festivities.

Truthfully, she had given them little thought. Crowds were loud, unpredictable, and generally poor environments for observation. Yet attendance was expected, and she supposed it would be useful to meet the other incoming students. Connections often opened doors that books could not.

Closing her notebook, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and glanced toward the Seminary visible beyond the rooftops. A new year. A new semester. And perhaps, if fortune proved kind, the beginning of answers long overdue.

A mousy tangle of hair perches itself over the well worn pages of a journal.
"We arrived at dusk to a city positively glowing, The lights always look cheerier in the cold for some reason. I have spent the intervening few weeks wandering the city alleys in search of Tern Lilies, despite them being out of their blooming season. It took quite a bit of fruitless searching and interesting encounters with the locals but a stalk now graces my desk beside me, I am excited to see the petals after so many frustratingly colorless illustrations. I have come to realize that within the city my best bet at seeing rare annuals is going to require befriending some of the more affluent locals. I peered into more than a few impressive looking gardens and courtyards at the cost of a bevy of scrapes and bruises from climbing were I don't belong. There is quite the hubub out my cousins window and news has of course reached me about the new years celebrations. I expect I will attend just for the fun of it all, one last gasp of freedom before I am pulled into this seminary and forced to behave like a proper heir of Ilisvalne. Perhaps I can meet some of the well to do garden owners, or even better their gardeners. Sleep calls now dear diary, I shall write to you again soon!"

Two months in Tern City felt like barely just enough time for Art to begin getting his bearings in the bustling urban environment. If the city wasn't overwhelming enough, this adjustment period also came with a substantial increase in his own independence. It was two months of practicing engaging with others, studying things that other students had already committed to memory long before him, and ensuring he could get around without getting lost. Of course, it was also two months of getting used to the weather. Cold and wet was the opposite of what he had grown accustomed to back on River-Scar.

The young karposark sat alone in a dimly-lit café, but it was not as quiet as it had been the past two weeks he had been coming in. Decorations of the standard fashion for the new year festivities lavishly graced every corner of the shop. The maximalist approach reminded him of what he had done with the room provided to him in Chiming Heart-Bell's vacation property. While the stylizing of that space was welcome, the café had been a less busy space to relax in the mornings. The beverage in front of him was no longer steaming and only half empty. A textbook sat open to the left of the beverage, ignored. The space wasn't conducive to focus. Instead, the drawing journal in hands was in the process of bearing the image of a couple of monomorphs laughing together at another table.

The two were discussing their plans for later. Art only had one, which was to go be seen among others where he was instructed to be seen before retiring for the evening. Secondarily, it would be best if he could make conversation without receiving queer looks for once. Appropriate attire had also been secured for just such an occasion, or so he had been told. A tertiary objective was to enjoy a couple of new experiences without becoming overstimulated. It wasn't as though he wasn't grateful to have these new opportunities. It also wasn't as though he didn't appreciate learning about the odd, yet beautiful traditions of others. There was something about societal expectations that would seem to always frustrate him, even if just slightly. That quirk, while frustrating to possess, was another thing to be grateful for. His unique perspective would be beneficial when he entered the political world one day. It wouldn't be long now.

Despite all the hopes, in the afternoon the weather turned for the worse, and most of the outdoor celebrations were cancelled. No dancing with torches and candles, no outdoor games, no open-sky stage plays. Only the market stall keepers grudgingly remained at their spots, covering up their goods to protect them from the wind-swept rain and snow. Many of the dirt-road alleys became swamped by a mixture of mud and melting snow.

It seemed there wouldn't be much for the guests to do in the streets today, and it made more sense to spend the afternoon holed up in homes and cafés, preparing for the evening.

---

But as dusk time approached, the skies became clearer. As precipitation finally diminished, servants rushed to clean up the sidewalks at the ceremonial building where the students of General Esoterica would gather. Once the immediate vicinity was clean, they even rolled out a red carpet from the entrance threshold reaching all the way onto the sidewalk.

The ceremonial building, especially its entrance, looked rather fancy. It had tall and intricately decorated doors, tall windows leading into the main ballroom, a raised threshold, and there were treebeds with palms growing in them.

---

The event was scheduled to officially begin at the strike of dusk - the 18th hour - and so approximately a half to a quarter hour before that, the participants began arriving - some by carriage, some on foot. When Art, Celune, Danikle, and Shadow, having arrived by their respective methods, were approaching the entrance, they witnessed five other young adults - surely all also prospective students - in a tense stand-off by the entrance.



On the one side of the standoff, there were two commoners - one long-haired and clad in a cheap Chorizemic robe and staring back at the nobles, the other with shorter hair and clad in a modest Hvirati toga, standing behind the former and trying to avoid causing further offence or other escalation.On the other side there were three nobles, angry and accusatory.

One was a long-haired redhead clad in thin ceremonial armour common in Smithland.

One was a bald Chorizemic aristocrat, clad in traditional robes of the Empire.

One was a Hvirati noble with long hair and a scar on a brow. "Take your filth somewhere else. Remedy it, in due haste, for you don't want to be held responsible for it," she demands in a level yet tense, steely voice, in Firefriend.

"My lady Seragiu, it seems fate has led us to another crossroads. I hope for the health of your father, and trust you have been well. We are all foreigners in this land of wonders, and as such, have no right to demand of our fellow students that which they do not desire." Shadow said with a wry smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, as he stepped forward, boots clicking against wet stone.

The unmarked carriage which had borne him to the academy entrance rolled away as the coachman, a deliberately inconspicuous individual, snapped the reins silently to leave. He wore the new form of Smithland military uniform, a dark grey tunic reinforced in strategic places with leather and lamellar armor, along with silver bracers to guard one's wrists.

Despite the naturally antagonistic relationship their two families held, he seemed...Almost pleading in tone. His eyes were sad as he looked at her, and perhaps a hint guilty. Whatever had the reasons been, it was true that they had been driven out of their ancestral homelands, and his family had borne the sword that had done so.

"Allow mercy to temper your actions. For is it not the noble's duty to shepherd their lessers?"

Soon after, Celune also arrived on foot, sheltered beneath a dark umbrella. Instead of her usual vest and long skirt, she is now wearing a formal dress suited to the festival she's about to attend.

The sight of the ornate building had almost drawn her attention away from everything else. Almost before her gaze settled on the confrontation unfolding before the entrance. A poor first impression for an academic institution, she think. She slowed her approach, studying the participants and listening carefully for context before making any assumptions.

For the moment, she remained silent, lingering at the edge of the gathering with the her usual patience self.

Danikle stepped off what was an altogether too ostentatious carriage for his taste, his family crest emblazoned prominently on the door and standard of the ornate black and gold monstrocity. He was loathe to admit it but some excitement lurked under the trepidation that clouded his gaze at the carpet adorned building that would house his near future and the heavy expectations of his family.

It was with a curious gaze that he looked towards the spectacle of arguing students, content to be an onlooker for someone elses performance. Until at least he noticed Sahrethe among the disdained party of the squabble. A low angry glint entered his eyes while he calculated whether to help difuse the situation like this other student seemed to be attempting or whether to answer insult with insult in Sahrethe's place.

As it often did for Danikle caution and a desire not to make a scene won out and he approached with an innocent smile like he had not noticed the conflict.
"Sahrethe you glimmer with the radiance of the morning dew as always."
He turned towards the three nobles with an apologetic look on his face
"I hope you don't mind if I interupt your conversation, this is an old friend of mine and I'd like to steal her away to catch up before the ceremony."
Not giving them time to answer he made to pull Sahrethe and the other student in the chorizemic robe up into the building already starting to chat
"How were your travels and who is your new friend?"

Not far behind Celune was Art, also arriving on foot. Although the sights and sounds of the city could still be overwhelming, the movement of his body helped to regulate his thinking more than a carriage ride might. The path he took to get to the ceremonial building was mapped out well in advance to ease his nerves anyhow. Seeing some of the other more finely dressed students for the occasion, the would-be noble looked down at himself to ensure he was wearing the correct robes. A deep exhale blew from his nose as he looked forward with his stoney expression, assured he was prepared to speak with others.

What confidence Art had melted away into tension as he saw the conflict on the carpet. The aggressive posture of the nobility and the tenseness in the voice of the armored one already had him on edge. Wrangling prey through claw and fang sounded preferable to the way that people fought. Words and influence were wielded as weapons to get what they wanted. Even if a fight seemed won, one might discover later that the apparent loser knew enough people to hurt the person who beat them. A prey that escaped wasn't vindictive, but a person could be. If it were not for politics deciding so much for so many people, the former feral would have chosen to remain a recluse. Regardless, he approaches the gathering.

Stopping just before the carpet, Art removed his shoes and set them to the side. His bare feet walked the rest of the way. "One cannot stop rain nor mud, but shoes can be collected later. This opportunity cannot. All should walk together." Art gestures back at his shoes as if to suggest the others leave theirs as well. Making note of Shadow's pleas for mercy, he keeps a watchful eye on the would-be guardian of the carpet. He does not, however, acknowledge Blooming Storm. Avoiding them the past two months had been a goal he had been successful at until now. Their rivalry was not something he wanted to stoke the flames of, but merely prove quietly that he deserved his place.

As she is pulled towards the entrance by Danikle, Sahrethe grabs the other commoner's hand to pull him along, responds, "Ah, this fetching fellow is Nightgleam's Reflection, another student, whose path into the seminary seems to have been charted by Higher Powers."

The ceremonially armoured nobleglares at Shadow for a split second, but upon hearing a constructive proposal, speaks calmly to him, "Words are empty and vague when not backed by personal deeds and actionable advice. I concede that in this moment, it is the peer from the Chorizemic Empire," she motions with her hand towards Art of Stone, "who has said what I unfortunately not quick enough to, and led by example too."

She turns to Danikle and gently touches his arm, as a gesture de-escalation. "It is my failure that upon seeing you approach I have been outraced by the quick wit of the new guest. But perhaps that's an opportunity for the three of us to have fewer disagreements in the future," she glances at Art of Stone with a hint of a warming-up smile. "Shoes bearing signs of today's weather can indeed be left at the door."

With a compromise solution being offered, the two commoners release hands and start taking off their sandals, while the nobles stop blocking the way - the Smithlander happily, the Hvirati neutrally, and the Chorizemic reluctantly.

Celune quietly observed as the confrontation unraveled.

The military man appealed to duty. The noble sought to defuse the quarrel through familiarity. And the quiet stranger offered the simplest solution of all. Three different approaches to the same conflict, each contributing in its own way.

A faint smile crossed her lips as she closed her umbrella and stepped forward.

"It seems the matter has resolved itself," she said softly. "A fortunate beginning for what is meant to be our first day as fellow scholars, don't you think?"

Without another word, she removed her shoes and placed them neatly beside the others before crossing the threshold. As she passed, her gaze lingered briefly on Shadow, Danikle, and finally Art, committing each face to memory.

One never knew which acquaintances would become allies or the key to answers yet undiscovered.

Seeing that Ngofu seemingly wished to make peace Danikle smiles at them. "It is so good to see you well friend, I look forward to catching up soon!"
Hearing Celune he woukd pass them a smile and a nod at their comment.

Art visibly relaxes. Observing the smile of the Smithland noble, he mirrors it back to her. "That is good. Amicable resolutions are best." An unconscious gaze is cast towards Blooming Storm, but slowly makes its way around to Nightgleam's Reflection at the mention of his name. The former feral offers a wave in passing to acknowledge him before continuing on.

"Rain's absence would be a stronger sign." He responds to Celune.

Watching Ngofu depart, one might expect Shadow to seem happy that she had so easily acquiesced to his plea of logic. However, his lips merely tightened further, and his eyes seemed to deepen in regret. She would have been an admirable part of Smithland's new future, and they did need competent leaders....If only for the fact that her family was at odds with his own, and thus, she would never be allowed any power on Smithland soil.

Shaking away the dreary realities, Shadow took his bearings, noticing the others and flashing a bright smile at them. "What, have my fellows not enjoyed the lovely weather going on in this city as of late?" Shadow asked wryly, dispatching his own military-style boots, which, oddly enough, seemed to have little in the way of mud on them.

Ngofu Seragriu, despite having untarnished boots (having arrived by carriege), sets them aside by the entrance, and responds to Danikle, smiling. "Glad to see you too. We can catch up, but beware that now you will be competing for the attention against the mysterious young sage," she nods in Art's direction, with perhaps a touch of humour in the comment. "If I may impose myself thus, of course."

And with that, she walks the carpet through the entrance, glancing at Art and Danikle in the hopes they wouldn't stay far behind.

Meanwhile in the background, the Chorizemic noblerolls her eyes at Ngofu's comments and walks through the door silently, leaving her (also untarnished) shoes on.